


Illuminate

by syntheticrealities



Category: Osmosis Jones (2001), Tarzan (1999), Treasure Planet (2002)
Genre: F/F, femmeslash, for a crossover fanvid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:50:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticrealities/pseuds/syntheticrealities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom tastes like comet dust and anchor rust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illuminate

**Author's Note:**

> AN: An accompanying fanfic for a fabulous crossover video I saw the other day. The fic really won't make much sense if you don't go and watch this beautifully edited masterpiece, so I'll link it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahVKiBDMBHw . Also, apologies for any mischaracterization of Jane or Thrax-I've not watched either of their films for ages.
> 
> Reviews and constructive critiscism are greatly appreciated!
> 
> ~J

When she steps aboard that vessel, she knows that something's changed in her. Whatever vestige of the young woman who was intended for a comfortable life in Oxford, fit for only sketching bones, vanished. Her heart leaps with the thrill of it, the boldness of it. How father must be cursing at home. Perfect proof that one is never too old to run away. To find adventure. She's wandering about the deck now, giddy with excitement and a smile as wide as the sails furled high above her. The captain is watching her, assessing, deducing. Her eyes are narrowed against the sunlight, struggling to pick out the figure of this curious woman-another bumbling scientist to pander to-because her yellow silk dress seems to glow. With mild intrigue, she rests her hands lightly upon the banister and fixes the newcomer with a solid look. Raising her voice high above the bustle, the Captain calls out:

"Miss Porter, I presume?"

Jane turns to face her addresser and feels as out of place and inept as she did at her first lecture. She rushes to catch her sketchbooks before they clatter to the deck, holding them close against her chest.

"Yes, yes, that's me! Captain Amelia, correct?"

Amelia, if such a flowery name belongs to such a capable-looking woman, nods curtly. Jane continues her greetings, not noticing the other woman has made her way down the wooden steps to meet her until she is by her side. She falters in the telling of her journey to the spaceport (who knew shuttles could be so crowded?) when a kid-gloved hand reaches out gently, gesturing to her sketchbooks.

"May I see?"

"Oh, yes, certainly!"

The thick vellum pages unfold, sketch upon sketch tumbling past in blurs of graphite until they come to rest at a clean page. In a most unladylike manner-how relatable-Jane pulls a pencil from behind her ear and starts to sketch. As she looks on , Amelia is astounded to see how quickly the star system surrounding them takes shape on the page. The diagram is quick and efficient, but she can see the artistic talent that lies behind the bare, functional lines. Putting aside her curiosity, Amelia lightly taps the page.

"The Artemis Tau Cluster, you're certain?"

Jane's eyes flutter up from the page and Amelia is surprised to feel herself tense when the lights of hope and wonder fade from her eyes. A small vertical line creases Amelia's brow without her knowledge and Jane's voice is visibly dim. Mouselike.

"I am. When...When I left him, he said couldn't wait to get as far away from me as he could. Even going to the Artemis Tau Cluster if he had to."

"It's a dangerous place. Did he...Mention anyone else? Family or friends that he might seek sanctuary with perhaps?"

Jane draws her shoulders in and admires the gloss-sheen of the deck boards.

"No. But I need to see him-to tell him I'm sorry for what I did!"

Amelia could see in her eyes that she still loved him, this mystery man. How she knew that feeling. Still, even though he sounded little better than the barnacles plastering the hull, Miss Porter has paid good money and the detour to Artemis Tau was not out of their way. So they'd go. Why did that put a sour feeling in her gut?

"Very well. We'll reach your coordinates in about four weeks. Until then, I wish you a good stay Miss Porter."

Jane startles from her reverie to take Amelia's offered hand. Her grip is strong, but warm. Amelia turns to take care of business elsewhere on the ship. Jane remembers herself before the Captain leaves.

"Oh, Captain, may I ask a favour?"

"Go ahead."

Jane blushes a little, fiddling with the spine of her sketchbook.

"May I be allowed upon the bridge when we cast off?"

It seems like such a small request and Amelia smiles slightly.

"Of course. We leave on the hour. Sharp."

She turns away to assist with the pre-flight checks, still smiling.

* * *

The solar winds are blowing in their favour when Jane flies up the steps to the bridge. She's somehow found time to brush her hair back and change into more comfortable clothes for faring the stars in. She takes a place by Amelia's side and though she is bellowing in her parade grounds voice for the sails to be unfurled, the lines cast off, the afterburners to be set to standby, a small quirk at the corner of her lips reveals her satisfaction. For a moment she thought Miss Porter might not have made the launch.

Jane has the sense to brace for it, pressing a hand against the warm wood of the mast behind her for support. In the roar of the engines and the singing of the wind in the rigging, Amelia can't hear her laugh for joy, but she can see it on her face. It's endearing and for a second, she is reminded why she took to the stars herself, riding upon wide wings of solar silk and baring her fangs against the sunlight.

Freedom tastes of comet dust and anchor rust.

This is a simple knowledge that they both now share.

* * *

They're a week into the voyage when the first mate comes to find Amelia in her ready room. For a man made of stone, he is surprisingly soft of foot and after serving together for so many years, in more than a few wars, she knows that something is wrong. Settling the quill back in the drawer of her desk, she folds her hands on the polished oak before her.

"What's happened, Mr Arrow?"

"It's Miss Porter, ma'am," he begins. "The crew are...Concerned about her."

With good reason. Jane has not shown her face at any of the meals that day and her door has been locked tight. Amelia nods and rises from her seat.

"I'll see to it. The bridge is yours, Mr Arrow."

His salute follows her down the hall, below decks, at last to the polished copper hatch of the door. Walls in star ships these days are built thick, but there is no mistaking the sound of anguish from beyond the threshold. Drawing herself up to her full height and tucking her hat under her arm, Amelia raps smartly upon the door. Three times. Abruptly the sobbing stops. The door clunks and slowly revolves inwards upon it's hinges. She steps inside, feeling as though she's intruding upon her own ship.Jane's wearing her silk again, though the elegant folds are ruined by the way she is thrown across the bed. Her shoulders clench sporadically, silent weeping in the candlelit dark of her room.

"What's troubling you?"Amelia asks softly.

She knows how to deal with the grieving, with the homesick. Once, in the Navy, she had a platoon of young soldiers to look after. Every one of those young girls had poured their heart out to her at one point or another. She had dealt with it.

"I-I don't know if he'll want to see me again."

"It's not my place to comment on the relationships of my crew nor my passengers." Amelia begins.

Jane's tear-streaked face looks back at her.

"But I can give you the little advice I have."

How long has it been since she told this story? Too long. Delbert would have despaired over her, god rest his soul. Unknowingly, she's taken her own hand and has begun to fiddle with the place on her finger where a wedding ring has once rested.

"If you truly love each other, then any time you spend apart is just a...Pause. An intermission, if you will."

It's a hollow way of putting it, but Jane's not crying anymore and she reaches up to rub tears away with her knuckles.

"Thank you, Amelia."

It's the first time she's called her by name and the Captain has no heart to correct her. She's not crew, it's not insubordination. Why worry? She nods slightly, having said her piece and now feeling awkward.

The door closes as gently as it can behind her and it's only when Amelia's footsteps have faded that Jane allows herself to cry again. He's not loved her for years. But she's his wife, that scar from his claws across her shoulder proves that. So she has to go back, to say that she's sorry for not being good and that she'll try this time, _promise_. Just as well that Amelia did not hear her true sorrow-else wise that lovely hunting rifle mounted above her door might've soon found itself in use again.

* * *

The next two days pass without incident. That evening, Amelia is walking the perimeter of the deck, thinking about everything and nothing. It's easy to dream and remember, surrounded by starlight. Her eyes are seeing the grins of her comrades after victory, not the edge of the deck. Her hearing is strained to catch the laughter of those same young soldiers-the ones that didn't die-when she thinks she's finally going mad. When the laughter sounds more than a dream.

When it's real.

But up by the stern, she can see the ghost of her, that same young soldier. She's dancing upon her toes, bathing in the purple light cast by the passing comet up above. She wear's Jane's clothes and speaks with her voice, but for a moment Amelia's certain it's her.

The Captain doesn't disturb this unbridled happiness, not when they last saw each other was an exchange pregnant with doubt and worry. So instead, she smiles from behind the rigging, turns and quietly walks back the other way.

* * *

A week after that and many increasingly-enlightening talks (The Captain reads Shakespeare! Who knew!) later, Jane's crouched by the projector in the ready room. The senior crew are all sat quietly behind her, listening to their Captain brief them on their detour. Jane knows that for her, the end of the journey won't be a happy one, but at least she gets another excuse to see the Captain again.

The projector works as it's meant to under her touch, not whirring and melting reels of film as it normally does. And the Captain is more animated than ever, arms sweeping wide to encompass whole star systems painted on the wall, intoning the names of this planet or that satellite. She's warning them about pirates and where they must go should they be attacked, but Jane's not paying attention.

She's just noticed how charming Amelia's eyes are.

* * *

That same night, Amelia has the first nightmare she's had in years. They're both crouched in the hold, hands entwined in the inky dark-that's odd-listening in terror as the tip-tap of claws echoes down the maintenance tube.

Amelia reaches for her pistol, but finds her hand caught in a vice-like grip that's as hot as a branding iron. She screams and the pistol clatters to the floor. For whatever reason, she can't get up and Jane's standing, scuttling away, _no, come back._

The shadow-man reaches for her, strikes her. As Jane falls, the colour fades from her skin. When the Captain sits bolt upright in a slither of sheets, chest heaving, she swears she can almost hear him.

_"I missed you so much, my dear..."_

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Jane sweeps into the ready room, arms flowing with star charts and maps. Amelia has grown used to this scholarly excitement-it reminds her of Delbert, god rest his soul-so she merely sips her Earl Grey and listens to Jane's delighted talk. She's more concerned about the passage of the stars than her estranged other half, but Amelia doesn't mention this, nor look too deeply into the fond warmth quickly spreading in her chest. 

That very same day, some fool manages to lose control of the boom joist. The wood had swung across the deck and Amelia had not had enough time to duck. So there she was, cooped up in bed with her arm in a sling and bandages around her ribs.

Jane has once again drifted into her company and she should not be sitting so close at the end of the bed, nor reading from the book in her lap in such a lovely way. Amelia's just slipping into the hazy bliss of laudanum for the pain when Jane scooches up even closer, humming some old French lullaby under her breath.

Jane does not mention the contented smile that follows the Captain into sleep.

* * *

 

Thankfully, Amelia's kind heal quickly and though she can still feel the dull ache in her bones as they knit back together, she's freed from her bandages and sling in only two weeks.

Unbeknownst to her, as she's recounting some tale from the Proceon Wars, sighting non-existent horizons with a sextant pressed against the window, Jane's sketching her. Amelia moves so quickly and gracefully, an economy of motion known only to felines, that Jane can hardly keep up. She's curled up in the chair like a child with the sketchbook in her lap and her lip between her teeth.

Even though Amelia is not facing her, Jane can still remember every sweeping curve of her face.

* * *

 

Over the coming weeks, they somehow become a couple without really noticing it.

Jane's talking about evolution-her favourite discipline of science just like Delbert's, god rest his soul-tucked up in her lap as if Amelia's body was made to fit hers. Jane seems oblivious to how deeply the Captain's fallen for her and Amelia has no need to think of it. She's already been there.

Still, she has so dearly missed this. Love. It finds her whenever Jane's near, that warm ache in her chest. It's there when she gently puts a finger over Jane's lips, puts it under her chin and pulls her in for a kiss. It's worth it just to hear the happy noise Jane makes.

Or the giggles that she lets slip when she figures out that running her fingers through Amelia's hair just so incites low, rumbling purrs in her chest. That's not happened since Delbert passed either, god rest his soul.

They are perfectly in love and happy together. Neither of them want it to end and neither of them need to say that it will-for now, it's just happiness and warm embraces on cold starlit nights. Unknown to either of them, this is the third time Mr Arrow's had to put to rest betting pools as to when the question, the Question with a capital Q, is going to be asked.

* * *

The first and last time Jane takes a woman to her bed is the start to the worst day of her life.

She's lingering in the ruffled sheets of Amelia's bed-the scandal this would cause back in Oxford!-when she sees Amelia's shoulders tense.

"What's wrong?"

_That I couldn't say it to him until years after we married. That I can't bring myself to say it to you, even though I know it's true. That I'm falling head over heels for you and that you've got a man waiting for you_.

Amelia shrugs into her jacket and begins buttoning it. Methodical. Familiar. Just how she likes it.

"Nothing." And Jane simply smiles. Whatever it is will come out.

Eventually.

* * *

 

The plates from breakfast have barely been cleared away when the first cannon shot hits them out of nowhere. Jane's paintbrushes slide from the vase she's been keeping them in and Amelia curses as she's thrown against a bulkhead, making her ribs creak warningly.

All at once, the cradle comfort of the Legacy becomes a finely-honed military machine. Jane rushes to help, but Amelia drags her aside even as she's stabbing her pass code into the armoury safe. The pistol she takes in her hands is a lethal elegant thing, much like Amelia herself. Jane urges her to stop, fearing the worst.

"No, please, I need you! I can't go back to him again, not after-"

"After what?" Amelia snaps, all practiced briskness.

Jane bites her lip and shies away. Suddenly, Amelia connects the dots. The fear of going back to him. The healed scars on Jane's back- _from a neighbour's dog when I was younger, that's all!_ -the dimness that comes over her when she speaks of him.

"It's him, isn't it? He's a wife beater?" Jane refuses to nod.

The Captain sees red. Like the cat she is, she's spitting and hissing her words as she wrenches back the magazine of the gun. She loads it and cocks the hammer in a blur, eyes narrowed to furious slits. Jane is already apologising just like she does for him. It makes Amelia so angry, to see what this louse, this _bastard_ , has done to the woman she loves.

As a pistol matching the one she holds is forced into Jane's shaking hands, Amelia's parting words ring in Jane's ears like the explosion of a grenade:

"If I don't shoot him myself, I'll see that he hangs!"

Another apology dies on Jane's lips as Amelia sweeps through the door, running to battle with fire in her veins. An uneasy silence settles over the engineering decks and Jane can feel her heartbeat race. She's run down here after hearing Amelia on deck. She had been but a few steps behind her, a hatch away. Over the din, a lion's roar rocked the ship. All too easily, Jane's artist mind can picture those sharp white fangs bared, spittle flying from her lips. Claws out and crouched low. Ready to fight for her.

She doesn't want to see Amelia like that. Or get in the way.

In the hot dark, Jane's alone and fearful. Gradually, the sounds of gunfire and battle fade. The steady rhythms of the ailing ship take over her hearing and Jane is on full alert. How had Amelia shown her how to hold this thing?

The pistol is clumsy and awkward in her hands, a heavy weight as she tries to cock the hammer. Arm it, and herself. Out of the dark, a hand touches her shoulder and another covers her mouth to quiet her shriek. It's Amelia, face bloodied and hair ruffled. Her fine jacket is torn to hell and Jane can tell from the way she's holding herself that her weakened ribs have broken again.

There's a sound from behind them. Without realising, Amelia's tugged them into an adrenalin-fueled run, ducking past pipes and diving through hatches. They're well into the aft hold of the ship when Amelia finally slows, slamming the door closed and welding the locking mechanism shut with her pistol.

"We'll be fine. We're safe. Only a few of them left-"

The glowing iron comes out of nowhere.

It slips through Amelia's coat, skin and chest like a hot knife through butter. A banshee wail rises in Jane's throat as Amelia folds to the floor, eyes fluttering. It wasn't meant to end like this. She turns to the demon and her scream dies in her throat.

It's him.

Whilst she's in shock, he folds his arms and grins. As roguish and arrogant as they night they ran away together. As cold as when that same glowing claw as cleaved Amelia's back in two gave Jane those scars on her back. Her wedding vows, he said.

"Hey baby."

She sees him say the words, but doesn't hear. Breath flutters in her chest. The claw is getting closer now, she can feel the heat of it against the delicate skin of her throat. It lights the room, shines in the whites of her eyes.

"Please."

The word escapes without her meaning it to. Suddenly, Amelia struggles to sit up. That lion's look is back again, even as blood seeps between fingers pressed to her side.

"You'll never leave this ship alive!" she spits.

"Oh yeah, just watch me!" he growls, turning to her and striding up close.

"You're her newest lover, aren't you? There's been a string of them. All across the stars. She'll just throw you away like she did with me."

Amelia looks back at him with fire in her eyes. He can see Jane's reflection cowering against the wall in the teal depths of her irises.

"Liar. You lying son of a bitch-" the words are barely hissed now, so much blood seeping through the grate floor.

He steps back for a moment; Amelia thinks he's going to give up. Fevered hope.

Jane's last sight of her is of eyes wide, mouth downturned in disbelief. For the first time, she knows how fear looks on Amelia's face. Then the glowing shear arcs down, faster than light, a speeding comet more tragic than that one she had danced beneath all those days ago. Amelia falls again. This time, Jane knows she won't get up.

Tears finally come, flooding, pouring. They burn her face and seize up her throat as she slides down the wall, waiting for her fate. Of it's own accord, the pistol rises. As if she always knew how to, Jane watches her fingers cock the hammer. Flick back the safety. She can almost feel the gun purr in her hand. He turns back to her, gestures carelessly.

"We both know you're not gonna use that. Put the gun down, baby. Come back to me. I'll be gentle with you this time, I promise."

She's shaking her head and the gun moves slightly, aiming above his shoulder. She shakes her head again, _no, never,_ harder this time.

The gun shakes violently. Comically, he looks to where she is aiming. Crate upon crate of mining explosives leer back at him. Shock and terror dawn on his face, like it did on hers. _Amelia_.

This is the last thought that accompanies Jane between the squeezing of the trigger and the impact of the bullet. His roar is muted for her then, blissful silence.

Kindly, Jane's mind plays that record again. The one she and Amelia had danced to the night before they became lovers. The night before she died.

The bullet hits the crates and the H.M.S Legacy explodes in a parabola of light. From earth, it is a silent flash.

* * *

Her head hurts.

And her limbs.

And her body. Every muscle aching, every bone creaking. For some time, Jane is casually aware that she can't really see or hear much of anything. She spends an age drifting in that odd time between waking and sleep, somewhere between reality and dreams.

The hazy light around her brightens and brightens. When she blinks against it, clearing her eyes, the light resolves into the shape of the sun. It's rising above cool green waves lapping lacily on the shore. Confusion rules her expressions. For another minute or two, she's aware that her feet are digging into the sand. That the spray is landing on her face.

_I died. And now I'm alive. I'm dead and I can still feel my feet and my hands_. The disbelief is put to the side when a soft cough, the kind for drawing attention, reaches her. Jane turns, weak as a child. Amelia stands before her, there but not there. Sheer like mist. She's dressed in all her regalia, best boots shining and brocade looped around her shoulders. Her face isn't bloody anymore, and her eyes are as kind and softly inquisitive as they were the first time they met. Jane's mouth works for words she can't find and Amelia fills the silence for her.

"I never got to tell you, Jane. That morning, before the pirates came. After, well..." she laughs softly, blushing as the memories return to her. "After that night. I never brought myself to say it. That I love you, Jane."

And suddenly the fogs over Jane's mind lift and the same solar sail-wide grin sweeps across her face. She leaps into Amelia's arms as the sun breaks the horizon.

This is heaven. And she feels as alive as ever.


End file.
